Hear We Stand
by onlyonepage
Summary: Lyra Mormont, third eldest daughter of Lady Maege Mormont, has followed her mother and two older sisters to Winterfell where the Lord of Winterfell has called his banners. Constantly in the shadow of her sisters the battlefield is the last place Lyra want's to be even if a certain Lord is running the show. Robb/Lyra Mormont
1. Chapter 1

**This is an idea I've been playing with for a while and thought I'd see how the first chapter went. I would love to hear what people think of it. **

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**Chapter 1**

'_**I'm not denyin' the women are foolish. God Almighty made 'em to match the men'**_

**George Eliot**

Lyra huddled further into thick bear skin cloak. She stood on the deck of a galley as they sailed for Deepwood Motte. The sea had not been kind to the travellers. The winds howled and rains pelted onto the slippery deck making it near impossible to stay afoot. Lyra sniffed and tried to rub feeling back into her red nose with a gloved hand. As the galley tumbled over another wave the deck disappeared beneath Lyra's feet. She gripped the rail tight and stumbled towards the warped wooden door to the dryness below deck where the biting wind couldn't reach her. As the galley rose and fell with the waves Lyra stumbled down the narrow corridor stepping between the burly men shouting commands to the comfort of the small cabin she shared with her sisters.

It was with great relief that Lyra stepped onto dry land a week and a half later. A storm had blown them off course delaying their arrival. Shouts and bellows filled the air as the travellers prepared to continue their journey and make up for lost time. The firm ground beneath her feet was a great comfort for Lyra who swung up into the saddle of her horse and followed the column as they left Deepwood Motte heading through the Wolfs Wood to their destination in Winterfell.

Tired and achy from days of sailing and riding the last thing Lyra Mormont wanted was to be paraded in front of the Lord of Winterfell who had called his banners. Lyra wanted a hot bath, something eat and a warm comfy bed. Instead she was caked in mud, wearing riding leathers and exhausted. She curtseyed when she was supposed to and smiled at the unfamiliar faces. Her mother had taught them from a young age to behave like proper ladies.

"Lord Stark," Lady Mormont greeted, "may I introduce my daughters; Dacey, Alysane and Lyra." Lyra remembered her manners and curtseyed. She was going through the motions again not at all bothered by the Lord until she met she his eyes. He was not what she had been expecting. The Lord of Winterfell in her mind was a robust man with a weathered face and a beard not a young man barely older than herself. He was as green as grass in this game, not that Lyra could talk this was her first time away from home. Remembering her manners Lyra smiled and mumbled a 'nice to meet you' in turn she was thanked for her upcoming efforts. The Lord of Winterfell led the way into the stronghold. Lyra followed behind her sisters keeping her head high.

Lyra Mormont had lived on Bear Island all her life until the Lord of Winterfell had called his banners. Her mother, Lady Maege Mormont of House Mormont had answered the call to arms and taken her three eldest daughters with her along with two hundred men from the island. Lady Maege was a stout grey-haired woman who dedicated herself to the old gods. Her stubborn and short-tempered personality made her a force to be reckoned with, the spiked mace and preference for chain mail was enough to put anyone in their place. The woman commanded respect wherever she went.

The Mormont family heralded from Bear Island an island with limited resources. Lyra had grown up knowing only the wooden hall surrounded by an earthen palisade she'd never seen towering stone castles until now. _Hear we stand; _her family's words had never been truer. Here she stood in a castle readying itself for war. Lyra Mormont would be under the command of Lord Stark and her wilful mother from now until they returned to the safety of home or died.

From the moment she could walk her wilful mother had encouraged Lyra to defend herself against ironmen and wildlings. She hated it. Her sisters all seemed better at it than her. She lacked the strength the others had. Lyra was the third daughter of Lady Maege Mormont and was forever in the shadow of the elder two. Lyra couldn't fire an arrow with precision or swing a sword with force enough to tear a head from its body. She was constantly criticised by her mother and sisters. Growing up she'd wanted to sew and read. To be a proper Lady like the ones in the stories but women of House Mormont weren't proper lady's they were warriors.

Lyra had hidden away in the room she was to share with her sisters for most of the first day until Lady Mormont had dragged her from the safe confines of the four walls with a lecture, a reprimand and strict instructions to practice with her bow until her hands bled.

It took some time but Lyra managed to locate the area for target practice in Winterfell. She was lucky that everyone was busy settling themselves leaving her to practice in peace. The last thing Lyra wanted was her mother to interfere or sisters giving her hints and tips to improve her technique. Lyra pulled back with her right hand and let go of the arrow. It sailed over the target hitting a wooden pillar behind. It didn't embed itself in the pillar but clattered to the floor with the other eight arrows she'd fired.

"You're never going to hit it like that," a voice interrupted her practice. Startled Lyra looked up. The man leaning against the wooden pillar was familiar. It was one of the men Lyra had met upon their arrival.

"I'm not aiming for the target," it was a poor excuse on her part.

The man raised an eyebrow. "I'd prefer it if you did not try to deliberately damage my home," realisation hit Lyra. This was Lord Stark. Their arrival had been chaotic with so many new faces that she had not been able to put a face to Lord Stark's name until now. Her eyes took in the site of the Lord savouring every detail. Lord Stark was nothing like the men of Bear Island. He was tall and lean. His dark hair curled on the top of his head but it was his eyes that had Lyra mesmerised. A rich blue that pierced through her. "Don't let me put you off," Lord Stark crossed his arms across his chest and waited for the woman to stop staring.

She blushed at being caught staring and returned to her embarrassing archery skills. The Lord of Winterfell who had called her mother to arms had just seen her fail to fire an arrow, just perfect. "Sorry my lord," Lyra took another arrow from the pile by her feet. She could hit the target. It was bad enough that her family believed her to be useless with a bow she didn't need anyone else to know least of all the Lord who would be leading her into battle.

"If you stood to the side more," he stepped closer and placed his hands on her elbows from behind tilting her body, "and kept your arm level." Lyra wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole, never had she been this close to a man before. It sent her heart fluttering with nerves. If only she had been graced with the gift of archery or any gift that had her in her mother's favour she could be spared the embarrassment.

As Lyra let go of the arrow the Lord of Winterfell stepped back. He smiled in satisfaction as the arrow hit the target this time. Lyra smiled too, it soon spread into a wide grin, "I should thank you, my Lord."

"Robb," he held out his hand.

"My Lord Robb," she placed her hand in his.

"Just Robb," he kissed her hand as if greeting any lady.

"Lyra," she turned back to the target and took up another arrow. If she could prove to her mother that she could hit a target then maybe she would ease off on her criticisms.

Lyra practised all afternoon until her fingers blistered. They weren't bleeding so Lady Mormont still wouldn't be happy but she had hit the target and in Lyra's eyes that was all that mattered. Satisfied with her days work Lyra returned to her room to clean herself up for dinner. Lord Stark apparently dined with each of the banner men when they arrived according to the maid that was assigned to the Mormont girls.

The Mormont's sat down at the dark wood table where Lord Stark sat with his siblings and other significant people that Lyra had failed to recall he names of. As they'd walked into the hall all eyes had been on her eldest sister Dacey. Dacey was wearing a deep green dress that Lyra was envious of, she was stunning. Her own pale blue one was a hand me down of Alysane's that she had shortened so that she didn't trip over it.

Lyra's mother had even donned a dress for the occasion. That didn't happen very often. "Lyra why aren't your hands bleeding?" her mother scowled drawing the attention of those around them.

"I hit the target," she protested under her breath. Lyra looked down at her half empty plate in shame.

"Did you hit the middle?" her mother asked with hints of disappointment having heard her daughter.

"No," Lyra admitted to the table as she speared a carrot with her fork.

"Not a bad shot though," Robb spoke up from his seat. Her mother had nothing to say to that and returned to her meal. Lyra knew better than to smile but couldn't help the quirk in the lips as she sipped on her wine.

Over dinner talk turned to King's Landing. Lyra had no inclination to go south she liked the north with its cold wet winds. It was bleak and cold. Lyra wanted to make the most of it before they marched south in a week's time. The Mormont's had been the last to arrive having travelled by sea from Bear Island. The weather had not been in their favour.

The wine made Lyra's head fuzzy. She'd had a bit too much with dinner. The man opposite her was crude and stared at her chest frequently. It made Lyra feel uncomfortable but she guessed she would have to get used to it being on the march with twenty thousand men and very few women. She chose to sip from her cup again instead of joining the conversation. Lyra tried to recall his name Theo or Theon, something like that.

After many hours of dining and drinking the feast came to a close. Lord Stark had welcomed the Mormont's with a speech and thanked them for their help equally Lyra's mother thanked him for his hospitality. The hall began to empty. Lyra saw her chance and took it. She excused herself and went up to her room. Alysane and Dacey were putting Theon in his place much to the amusement of Lord Stark whose laugh Lyra could hear as she retreated from the hall. She wanted to join them but didn't have any exciting stories of combat or adventure. Lyra was good at sewing and not much else.

Lyra awoke early and dressed silently. She crept out of the room into the courtyard where she practiced her archery the day before. Lyra took up her bow and stood ready to fire her first arrow. _Thwack._ It hit the target but fell to the floor. Frustrated she picked up another arrow and tried again. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and adjusted her arm. _Thwack._ Lyra couldn't believe what she was seeing imbedded in the target was her arrow. It was not in the centre but at least it has made contact and stayed in place. Lyra grinned triumphantly.

A clapping caught her attention; she whipped around to find the source, "well done my Lady."

"Ah, Lord Stark, you startled me," she fumbled with her bow and a curtsey. How long had he been watching her? It unnerved her.

"Robb," the Lord of Winterfell corrected her and bowed his head to hide his amusement.

"Sorry. Robb," her voice was weak as she corrected herself. Lyra didn't feel right calling the Lord by his first name but if he requested it who was she to argue? She took in his appearance. He was still wearing yesterday's clothes and his hair was dishevelled. It looked like he hadn't slept. Leading a force to war was no easy thing especially for someone so young. Lyra judged that he had been kept up entertaining his banner men. He could not afford to lose them.

"Do you mind?" Robb gestured to her bow.

"Not at all," she was glad to hand it over. Lyra watched as he notched an arrow with ease and sent it hurtling towards the target. It hit close to the centre shaming her earlier attempt. He handed the bow out for her. Lyra picked up an arrow as she tried to hide her panic. She couldn't miss this one. Her arrow sailed much closer to the centre of the target. Lyra breathed a sigh of relief.

"What are you doing up so early?" Robb asked when she handed the bow over so he could have another go. The bow always felt as if it didn't belong in her hands.

"My mother likes to tell me that I will never get any better without practice," Lyra offered in explanation, she had to show the young Lord that she wasn't as hopeless as her mother made her out to be or as hopeless as her poor attempt the previous day. The third eldest Mormont hoped to show her mother bleeding fingers when they sat down to break their fast. Her blisters from the previous day were already throbbing.

"It is a little hard to sleep when there's a war to lead," Robb sent the arrow towards the target with more force as he swapped an answer for an answer with the Mormont girl. Lyra looked at the young man with the weight of responsibility on his shoulders she hadn't asked for him to share that information and yet he had. Her heart went out to the young leader.

"Would you rather have my mother on your back?" she meant it as a jest but there were elements of truth beneath her words. Robb laughed. He was well acquainted with Lady Mormont. She was quite the force to be reckoned with.

"Lady Mormont is quite something," Robb replied as he once again handed the bow to Lyra.

Lyra laughed and notched her arrow, "I guess that is one way of putting it." Her arrow hit close to her previous one. She gave the last arrow from the handful she'd taken to the young Lord.

Her hands weren't bleeding when she broke her fast with her family. "Lyra, a sewing needle will not protect you on the battlefield," her mother berated her.

"I know that!" she snapped in annoyance, "I got up early to practice." It was no use arguing with Lady Mormont but she tried anyway.

"Clearly not enough," all of the Mormont's eyes flashed to Lyra's dainty hands. The blisters had been wrapped in a scrap of cloth. Lyra lost her appetite. She set her napkin down and went up to her room away from her mother.

"Lyra?" Dacey popped her head around the door, "you know mother means well."

Lyra gave her sister a doubtful look, "why am I here? I can't shoot, I can't wield a sword and I definitely cannot hit someone with any force."

"It is mother's attempt to make something of you," Dacey sat down on her own bed and watched Lyra stab at her fabric with the needle in her hand.

"I didn't have a choice is what you are saying," Lyra accused.

Dacey sighed; it was no use trying to get through to her sister.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

'_**A soldier will fight long and hard for a bit of coloured ribbon'**__**  
**_**Napoleon Bonaparte**

The black bear stood out on the forest green background of the banner of House Mormont. Lyra was patching the torn fabric in the courtyard of Winterfell. In and out her needle wove; she found the repetitive motion comforting. The banner was large and awkward but was the only thing her mother was happy for her to do instead of practicing with her sword like her two sisters.

Lyra perched on a hay bale in the courtyard as her sisters challenged the young Lords with their swords. They had asked her to join but she declined in favour of her needlework. Making a fool of herself was not high on her list of priorities.

"That all you've got Greyjoy?" Dacey's sharp clear voice could be heard above all the rest. Lyra looked up as her sister swung against the ward of Winterfell the clash of steel echoing in the courtyard. Dacey shoved the Greyjoy back and caught him across the back of his knees sending him tumbling. The onlookers were laughing loudly at the Greyjoy's misfortune. Alysane was hollering encouragement at their elder sister whilst the other Lords jeered Theon Greyjoy.

Her eyes fell on the Lord of Winterfell who was shouting to his unfortunate friend, "Theon you fight like a girl!" Lyra smiled at the camaraderie between the men. Lyra never had any brothers and grew up surrounded by women. There was no camaraderie between her sisters, Dacey and Alysane got on well and Lyra mothered over her youngest sister but they were raised as strong independent women and not gossiping young ladies huddled over their needlework.

At the centre of the crowd stood Lord Stark, wherever Lyra went she saw his face. He was a constant presence among his man in the preparations for their departure south. The young Lord had taken full responsibility for his decision to go to war. It was something Lyra admired. It was a good quality for a person to have. Lord Stark caught her eye and winked as he noticed her staring. The cheek of it! Lyra huffed and returned to her needlework mortified that he'd caught her looking. In and out in and out, she concentrated hard on the tiny running stitch that her nimble fingers controlled and not the Lord of Winterfell who'd looked at her with a slight smirk and a wink.

Robb wanted to practice all day in the courtyard like he and Jon used to, long before his half-brother left for the wall but he had duties to perform and a war to prepare for. As he glanced at Lyra Mormont again he was disappointed not to meet her soft grey eyes for a second time. She spent a lot of timing avoiding the practice area. From what he had seen she was unsuited for war. It pained him to think that she might die in the efforts. Anger swelled inside of him at the thought of a Lannister taking her life. The Mormont's were fierce there was no denying that but when surrounded by foes she would be nothing more than a girl. It was a risk Robb wasn't willing to take and yet he didn't want to send her home. He needed to utilise her strengths. She could sew there was no denying that and she was content with a needle in her hand. There would be need on the battlefield for a seamstress. Clothes would need repairing, tents patching. There would be a smattering of maids in the camp. A few could be spared to assist her. Lyra's fierce upbringing would make her a good leader, Robb had observed her patience and when she could hold her own in a conversation. He'd seen witnessed that first hand. The only obstacle to his proposal was her mother. Robb was dreading that conversations. The woman scared him. He'd take the Kingslayer any day of the week.

Her head was bent over the sewing as she focussed hard. It reminded Robb that he had business to attend to. With on final comment aimed at Theon who swore loudly in return he headed for the stables to check on the progress being made for the preparation for war.

Lyra finished with her house banners and returned them to storage after taking the time to fold them precisely. She took pride in her work and smiled at her accomplishment, her mother would be hard pushed to find something wrong with them. Lyra had dragged the task out for a day and a half but could no longer drag it out further. Reluctantly Lyra retrieved her sword and went in search of Alysane her favoured training partner. Dacey was too rough for her liking.

When Lyra returned to the courtyard it was alive with activity. Men were practicing their technique left right and centre. Lyra lost her confidence in practicing and stepped back into the shadows to put away her sword without being seen.

"Get your practice done?" Theon Greyjoy blocked her path as he eyed the sword in her hands.

"Yes thank you," Lyra hid her surprise.

Theon laughed, "You're going to have to lie better than that if the Lannister's get hold of you."

"They won't," she retorted with a scowl.

The ward of Winterfell grinned, "My lady Mormont you were beginning to disappoint me. I was under the impressions you had no personality."

Lyra bristled, "Glad your opinion of me has changed. My original opinion of you hasn't." Her opinion of the ward had been established early on. He was a cocky womanising flirt that found humour in everything.

Theon's eyebrows shot up and his lips formed a tight line at her response. "Has my sister surprised you Greyjoy?" Alysane's voice cut through the tense silence. Theon gave a derogatory snort, "I'm sure I can surprise you." Alysane stepped past her quiet sister and into the wards personal space.

"Oh really?" the humour was back in his eyes as she challenged him.

"You don't believe me," Alysane cupped his cheek with her hand. Lyra had seen enough and slipped outside to wait for her sister now that she'd turned up they could find somewhere quiet to practice away from the judgemental eyes of the men.

Alysane laughed her way out of the room, "Must you always make a fool of yourself?" Lyra disapproved of her sister's forwardness. It had landed her with two young children that she had left behind on Bear Island that her sister claimed were fathered by a bear.

"A fool? No. I am relishing life," she withdrew her sword from its scabbard with calloused hands. Alysane was more suited to battle than Lyra; she had the strength despite her short stature. Her legs were solid muscle making her an immovable force in battle. "That Theon is bigger fool than I am," she added as an afterthought.

Bruised and tired Lyra slipped into a dress from her leather tunic and cotton trousers. She scrubbed the filth from her hands and face and went to dinner. Alysane had been an unrelenting opponent. She had come at Lyra over and over giving her no time to stop and take a breath. A dark bruise was forming across her left shoulder where the flat of the blade had smacked down as she failed to dodge in time. She couldn't lift her arm above her head making dressing difficult.

Dinner was an informal affair. Lyra took her place next to her sisters on one of the many benches. A roar of noise filled the hall to the rafters as battle stories were exchanged in the excitement to the build-up to war. Lyra was talking to a daughter of one of the stable hands. She was a bubbly little thing who chattered on about the doll her mother had made for her. Lyra lost herself in the innocence of the conversation. The implications of war hadn't touched her young mind. When the young girl scurried off to find her father Lyra took her chance to leave. She'd eaten and was in no mood for company. Her shoulder irked her every movement and her muscles protested at the thought of climbing steps within the castle.

Lyra left the hall and saw the Lord of Winterfell in the entrance hall, "Lady Lyra!" he called as he stepped away from the man he had been speaking to. Lyra wasn't expecting him to call her. She planned to slip past and up to her room. Lyra dropped to a curtsey.

"My lady," he greeted, "I have a favour to beg of you."

"Of me?" she was surprised.

"I saw you working on your family's banners. It is good work," Robb complimented.

"Thank you," she smiled with pride at her work.

"I have need of more banners. If I provide the fabric and give you seamstresses to help will you make them for me? Will you lead them?" Robb asked

"Forgive me my Lord-"

"Robb," he interrupted.

"Forgive me Robb but I'm no leader. I'm here to follow orders into battle," Lyra wanted to say yes. She wanted to spend her days sewing but her mother expected better. All her life she had disappointed her mother. It had to stop.

"My Lady Lyra you are not suited for the battle-"

"I am. That's why I'm here, my mother-" her guard was up in defence of her skills. She could go into battle.

"Has forced you into this war," Robb had watched Lyra since her arrival. Her awkward movements during practice would make her a liability in battle. He would not have her blood on his hands. She was safer with the task he was giving her and once that was done he would find her something else to do within the camp.

"My mother is a good woman and bought us up to defend ourselves," Lyra jumped to the defence of her mother.

"I'm not denying that, but being able to defend yourself and fighting a war are two very different things. I have watched you practice," Robb was aware he was about to insult the woman, "you are a poor swordsman and unreliable archer and are better employed where your talents would be of some use."

"If my mother agrees then I consent," Lyra knew her mother would say no despite what Lyra wished and his jibe at her battle skills was nothing but truths.

Robb grinned glad she was showing no signs offense at his comment, "Your mother agrees."

"You asked her!" Lyra was stunned.

"So you'll do it?" the young Lord asked hopefully.

"I will," Lyra smiled as he lifted her hand to kiss it in thanks.

"Good, it would grieve me to see you hurt," Robb's eyes sparkled with something that Lyra couldn't interpret. The Lord of Winterfell left her in the entrance hall to consult with his master at arms. Lyra tackled the stairs with a spring in her step. Her aching muscles were long forgotten.

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**Thank you to DamonSalvatorelover and sowesearchthesky for reviewing and everyone else whose reading =]**


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